A Second EPISTLE. To my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S

OFt has my Muse and I fall'n ou•,
And I as oft have banish'd her my Breast;
But such, alas, still was her interest,
And still to bring her purposes about:
So great her cunning in insinuation,
That she soon gain'd her wish'd-for restoration:
But when I found this wou'd not do,
A Violent Death I put her to.
But see, my Friend, how your All-pow'rfull Pen
(O Miracle!) has rais'd her from the Dead again.

And now, alas, what can she doe,
Or speak or shew,
How very much she is oblig'd to you?
For where the Boon's so great, it were a rude
Presumption to pretend to Gratitude;
And a mad project to contrive to give
To you, from whom she do's her All receive:
Yet if she Traffick on your Stock, and thrive,
'Tis fit, how e'er the Principal be spent,
To pay the Int'rest of Acknowledgment.

And with her I must acknowledge too,
The honour which you did on me b•stow,
Though I unworthy were of it:
Not but your Iudgment knew well how to chuse
A worthier Subject than my Muse,
To exercise th' Exu'brance of your Wit;
But that your Goodness over all presides,
And nobly in Triumph rides;
Whilst other Vertues march in Troops behind,
Friendship do's the Chariot guide,
Which may perhaps run too much of one side:
Friendship, as well as Love, sometimes is blind;
And that she may be always so,
My Prayers shall ever tend,
'Cause I no other Title have to show,
Or tenure to the love of any Friend.